


Flash and Yearn

by lost_decade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, M/M, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: Five different encounters over the 2017 Monaco Grand Prix weekend.





	Flash and Yearn

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the poem Dream Song 14 by John Berryman

“Trouble sleeping?” Georg asks when he opens his eyes to find Nico perched in the chair by the window, curtains parted slightly as he looks out at the stillness of the Principality.

Nico shrugs. It’s just one of those middle of the night things. 

“Yeah I guess,” he replies, “crazy dreams.” He’s got his back to Georg and he looks so very small sitting in the high wing-backed chair. Georg stretches for a moment before getting out of bed, pulling on a robe and walking over to stand behind the chair. 

The room is dark, just a bit of light from the street filtering in through the gap in the curtains. It’s fairly modest in contrast with Nico’s own apartment but Georg gets the impression that Nico likes it, the two of them often spending the night here together when Georg is in Monaco, some of his clothes and a spare toothbrush kept in a drawer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Georg asks, resting his hands on Nico’s shoulders and kneading the tense muscles. 

Nico groans, relaxing into the touch. “It was about tomorrow,” he says after a moment, “we got to the track and” – he pauses because it sounds so ridiculous and also so transparent of his fears that it’s like textbook psychology – “I was invisible. I was walking through the paddock trying to talk to people and none of them could see me,” he finishes sheepishly. 

“You’ll never be invisible,” Georg says, working a knot out of Nico’s left shoulderblade. “It’s okay to be nervous about being at a race again, you’ll be fine.” 

“Yeah,” Nico says, “yeah I know it’s just…” he trails off. 

“Lewis?” Georg wonders if Nico knows how easy he is to read. Or maybe it’s not easy for everyone, just for him, after seven years constantly at Nico’s side. 

“We’ll see each other,” Nico says, “whether it’s intentional or not. I just, fuck I don’t know, Georg. I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“You don’t have to fix it,” Georg says, his hands stilling on Nico’s shoulders, moving up to rub at his neck and then sliding up his scalp, hitting all the good spots. “Let him fix it.” 

“Hmm, I don’t think he knows how either. Wow, you’re good at that,” Nico murmurs. 

Georg smiles at the warmth of his praise, massaging over Nico’s temples. “Feel better?” he asks after a few minutes, thumbs aching and Nico sighing contentedly. “You’ll never be invisible,” he repeats, “you’re always the most interesting man in the room, always the one everyone notices.” 

Nico smiles. “You’re really good at flattery,” he says, standing and stepping away from the chair, turning into Georg’s arms. “It’s going to be so weird, Georg,” he says, voice wavering. 

But Nico will be fine, Georg knows. It’s just that middle of the night anxiety that everyone gets from time to time, and Nico is exceptionally good at projecting the image he wants the rest of the world to see, a joy to work with. When it comes to it he’ll be fine, every inch the smiling, relaxed champion. Even if he doesn’t seem it now, pressing his body flush against Georg’s, hands sneaking inside his robe. Nico looks up at him, face shadowed by the half-light, taking Georg’s half-hard cock in his hand and stroking him gently. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Nico asks when they settle back into bed together, lying facing each other. His face looks so open, Georg thinks, a shyness in his voice that he hasn’t heard in a long while. Georg reaches to touch his cheek, caressing the soft stubble at his jaw.  “Do you want me to?” he asks, curiously, because Nico seems kind of off and he really isn’t sure. 

Nico blinks shyly for a moment, looking away and then back at Georg as if he’s embarrassed. “Could we just kiss for a bit instead actually?” he asks then, quietly and so innocently that it makes Georg harder than if Nico had requested he tie him up and spank him. 

“Sorry,” he says, when Nico presses up close against him, his erection hot against Nico’s stomach, willing it away even as it seems like a waste of a perfectly good hard-on when he knows it could be used to make both of them feel really fucking amazing. 

Nico shakes his head in dismissal of the apology, fitting his mouth against Georg’s and kissing him lazily. 

Their arms are around each other, Georg’s fingers in Nico’s hair as they lick into each other’s mouths. Georg’s jaw is aching, Nico’s lips red and swollen, by the time they eventually stop, Nico snuggling in and resting his head on the older man’s chest. 

“You’ll be fine,” Georg reassures, his stomach twisting and turning as Nico kisses his chest and settles down to sleep. 

Sometime in the early dawn they roll away from each other and when Georg wakes to bright sunlight forcing it’s way in through the gaps in the curtains he opens his eyes to find Nico’s face on the pillow beside his own, snoring softly, his features so relaxed and peaceful. 

“I hope your dreams were better,” he whispers, leaning over to kiss Nico’s bare shoulder.      
  


* * *

“Not now,” Lewis says when he opens the door of his apartment to find Nico standing out in the hallway. There have been plenty of opportunities for a chat over the recent months, the Saturday of race weekend in Monaco is not a good time – especially after his shittest qualifying of the season. 

“I don’t want to talk to you now, Nico,” Lewis clarifies. Nico looks him up and down. He looks tired, a pained frown on his face. For all Nico wants it to be otherwise, the expression Lewis wears is one so familiar from years gone by. It makes him remember, but then maybe that’s why he came here in the first place. 

“We don’t have to talk,” Nico says, pushing past Lewis into the apartment. “That’s not why I’m here.” 

Lewis is too exhausted to argue, following Nico into the kitchen and watching as he opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of San Pellegrino, pouring a couple of glasses and handing one to him. It’s casual – they always used to treat each other’s homes like their own – but something about it both irks and saddens Lewis. It’s as if Nico, in such a simple gesture, is transporting them back to a time when this behaviour was the norm. Lewis opens his mouth to argue but why, why bother now? 

“Why are you here then?” he asks instead, even though part of him already knows. Nico sighs, swallowing the last of his water and walking through into the living room, the view a carbon copy of the one from his own apartment. Parallel lives on different floors. 

“I needed to get away from all that for half an hour,” he says, gesturing to the expanse of Monaco below, the party atmosphere still in full swing. “I thought you probably felt the same.”

“Yeah,” Lewis agrees, too deflated to elaborate. Nico knows how it feels at least. They sit side by side in silence, leaning on each other, night falling. 

“I have to feed Roscoe and Coco,” Lewis says after a whine drifts out from the bedroom and the dogs pad over to him. Nico nods, listening as cupboards open and close, the clatter of the dog bowl on the tiles. When Lewis returns it’s gone completely dark outside but he doesn’t switch on the lamp, just slots back into place at Nico’s side, nestling close to him. Nico lifts his arm to place it around Lewis’ shoulders, pulling him in tight and pressing his face to Lewis’ hair. 

“It got so long,” Nico remarks.

“What? Oh, yeah, I dunno man I guess I thought I’d try out the look.” 

“I like it,” Nico whispers, lifting his hand to tangle his fingers in it, tugging a little so that Lewis’ head drops back. Lewis’ lips are soft as Nico remembers against his own. His mouth lingers there, warm pressure, neither of them pushing any further. Nico rests his other hand on Lewis’ thigh, stroking up over his sweatpants and resting on his crotch, dick half-hard beneath the material. 

“Do you want me to suck you off?” Nico asks, tentatively. Lewis opens his mouth to speak but the words aren’t there. It should be no. He nods slightly, swallowing as Nico slips to his knees. 

Lewis closes his eyes tightly then, winding his fingers through the soft strands of Nico’s hair and losing himself to the old familiarity of his mouth. One of Nico’s hands reaches up to find Lewis’, their fingers linking together, squeezing tight as he takes him in deep, familiar weight on his tongue.  

When Lewis comes it is sooner than he would’ve liked, a choked sob passing his lips as Nico licks him clean. 

“I have to get back,” Nico says as he stands, wiping his mouth, and Lewis is glad that it's dark, that Nico can't quite see the tremble of his bottom lip. He bites down hard, trying to foresee a time in the near future when he might not feel quite so unhappy. All he can picture is podiums and trophies, but he's not getting any younger and those things don't last forever.

“Sure, yeah of course,” he replies. Then: “Man, it's not the same without you.” It's supposed to come out a bit jokey, because of course he misses getting off, who wouldn't? 

It doesn't feel amusing though. 

“I know,” Nico says, and Lewis searches his voice for regret but is unable to find any.

“Nothing's the same without you,” Lewis repeats as the door clicks shut. He presses himself further back into the couch, closing his eyes, unable to decide if he feels better or worse than he did an hour ago.

 

* * *

 

It’s a step towards redemption. Not quite enough to make up for the win he should’ve had here last year but a podium is something at least and the smile is firmly stretched across Daniel’s face.

It’s weird, he decides, really fucking weird having Nico here doing the interviews when normally the two of them being together on the podium is indicative of where they’ve finished in the race. Being interviewed by Nico is, yeah it’s odd. Weirder still when they embrace and Dan takes a whiff of his aftershave, and beneath it the natural scent of his skin, clean and intoxicating, faint hint of sweat on a hot day, same as before. It’s enough to catapult Dan’s memory back a year. 

He’s tried hard to forget that day, for obvious reasons, but even the darkest clouds can have a silver lining and Nico certainly had been that. 

_**2016** _

“You want another?” Nico asks he slides onto the bar stool at Daniel’s side, gesturing at the half empty beer he’s staring mournfully into. Daniel turns to him with a confused nod, because although they’re friendly enough with each other around the paddock they’ve never really socialised outside of that and well, Daniel isn’t feeling very sociable. On the scale of sociability he’s probably hovering around three and a half right now, but whatever, if Nico Rosberg wants to buy him a drink he guesses that’s okay. 

The waiter sets down their beers on the shiny chrome bar-top, Daniel looking at Nico’s reflection through the surface. He looks like shit, Daniel decides. He looks exactly the same way that Dan himself feels, which in a way is better than if it was someone else sitting next to him. If it was Lewis offering to buy him a drink, or worse, Christian, he might’ve had to be restrained from throwing a punch. 

“Shit day all round huh,” Daniel says finally, taking a big gulp of beer and wishing Nico had offered to buy him something stronger. He definitely needs something stronger. 

“It wasn’t great,” Nico agrees, “and after the last three years…” 

Right, Daniel remembers, Nico is a three time Monaco Grand Prix winner, which makes him hate him for a moment. 

It must’ve shown on his face because Nico turns to him then, a hand on his arm and a sympathetic look in his eyes. 

“Sorry, insensitive of me. Believe me, I’d rather you have taken the win today than my teammate,” he says with a huffy laugh, his hand still resting on Dan’s forearm. He’s a bit drunk, Daniel realises. Daniel is also a bit drunk, but sober enough to recognise that slightly relaxed, marginally slurry affectation in someone else. He doesn't really want to get involved in some kind of weird power play between Rosberg and Hamilton, even being a bit curious about what the hell the deal is with them he knows it's entirely not worth it. 

“Fuck today,” Daniel proclaims, “I don't know about you mate but I'm done thinking about it,” he continues despite knowing he's gonna still be thinking about it in the middle of the night when he can't sleep - unless of course he gets drunk enough to just pass out, which seems like the best idea ever. “You want a shot?” 

He's a little surprised when Nico answers in the affirmative. It's not like he hasn't heard all about how hard Rosberg can party, and witnessed it a couple of times, it's just he guesses the guy seems different this year, more focussed. But everyone needs a blow out every now and then.

Nico is definitely up for a blow out, Daniel decides after their fifth shot of tequila. The bar is reasonably busy, as pretty much every bar in Monaco is after the Grand Prix, but they're sitting tucked away in the corner at the end of the bar and if anyone has noticed them they haven't shown it. Which is just as well, Daniel thinks as Nico orders another round of shots, because this could get very messy. Nico drags his tongue over his bottom lip, watching as Daniel pours a few grains of salt onto the back of his left hand. Daniel is just about to lick it off and go for the tequila when Nico grabs his wrist tightly, bringing his hand up to his mouth and swirling his tongue over the salt, licking in a slow, circular motion that does something very weird to Dan’s knees. Then he places Daniel's hand back on the bar and reaches for one of the shots, knocking it back and shoving a wedge of lime in his mouth like this is a thing they do.    


Which apparently it is, Dan notes as he follows suit and sweeps his tongue over the juncture of Nico’s thumb and his hand, tasting not only the salt but the skin beneath it, wondering how he tastes elsewhere. Nico looks at him levelly when the shot glasses are discarded to one side, leaning an elbow on the bar and playing his fingers through his hair, his other hand resting lightly on Daniel’s thigh, rubbing gently. 

Fuck, this is such a bad idea, Daniel thinks. This is a really terrible idea. Fuck it. How has he never noticed how gorgeous the German is before? Obviously the man is attractive, but there’s a certain controlled aloofness to him most of the time that is now completely gone. It makes him more human somehow and yeah, Daniel thinks, he could really go for this. 

“Erm,” he starts, staring back into Nico’s eyes. “Do you want to…” he pauses, because he’d been about to ask if Nico wants to come back to his hotel room, so clearly he must’ve drunk more than he’d thought as they’re in Monaco so neither of them have hotel rooms. 

He’s not about to ask Nico to come back to his apartment though, that would be too personal. “Yes,” Nico says, low and suggestive as his hand rises higher, one finger stroking up the inside seam of Daniel’s jeans. “Yes, I do.” 

* 

They stumble into the thankfully empty bathroom, kissing messily. Nico tastes of alcohol and citrus and it’s so, so good, exactly what Daniel needs he decides, sliding his tongue into Nico's mouth as he reaches down to palm his erection over his jeans. In the relative privacy of the cubicle they press up close to each other, Nico tangling his fingers in Daniel’s curls as they kiss. 

The lights in there are blue fluorescent, the walls of the cubicle glossed out in shiny monochrome zebra print; it makes Daniel think of a gay club he once went to in Perth that time Jev came to visit him – but he really, really doesn’t want to think about that now. 

“Have you got a condom?” Nico asks, panting and breathless, working open the buttons on Daniel’s jeans. Daniel stares at him for a moment because fuck, no he does not have a condom. 

“Don’t you have one,” Daniel asks, after rifling through his wallet just to make sure. 

“I’m married,” Nico says as if it’s the stupidest question in the world, “I don’t carry them round with me.” Daniel has to try really hard to resist saying something about Lewis at this point, but he does desperately want to have an orgasm and this day is not going to end with him wanking in bed alone so he refrains. 

“Yeah I kind of don’t normally do this sort of thing,” he says in response.

Nico is looking at him incredulously and he kind of resents the implication that just because he’s single that means he goes around shagging people in bars at the drop of a hat. 

“Okay,” Nico says…”okay.” He leans in and kisses Daniel again then, getting his jeans properly undone and pushing both them and Daniel’s underwear down to mid thigh, pausing to run his fingers over the tattoo on his thigh. 

For a moment Daniel thinks he’s going to get to his knees but instead he mirrors the action on himself, jeans and boxers pulled down to his knees and then that delicious feeling of pleasure when Nico presses up tight against him, their cocks bumping together. Daniel instinctively rolls his hips forward, moving the two of them back so that Nico is pushed up against the cubicle wall.  Daniel pins his wrists above his head against the wall, ducking to press their lips together again as he ruts against Nico. It really is nowhere near enough and he’s not quite sober enough to figure out how exactly to make this better – as contrary to Nico’s assumption this is not something Daniel is in the habit of doing in these particular circumstances. 

Nico jerks his arm and Daniel releases his grip, stepping back. 

Fuck, Daniel thinks looking at him, his hair messy and lips full and red from kissing – he can definitely see the appeal now and almost suggests they just do it anyway because he  _ knows _ just by looking at Nico right now that he’d be a really good fuck and the thought of coming inside him is just…god. He’s not that reckless though. 

Nico smiles and licks his lips, spitting into his right hand in a gesture so un-Nico-like that Daniel is a bit taken aback. Nico slips an arm around him, drawing him near and wrapping his spit-slicked palm around both their dicks. Daniel groans, mouthing at Nico's neck, licking over his pulse point and leaning on him heavily as the sensations intensify. His balls feel so tight and the feel of Nico's dick against his own is just heaven, especially with the way that Nico swipes his thumb over the head with every upward stroke. Nico murmurs something in German and yanks Daniel's head up by his hair to mash their mouths together, which is not something he particularly cares for, but he's so close to coming that whatever, if that's Nico's thing then fine. 

Daniel looks down in between kissing him, and that's what pushes him over the edge really, the sight of both their dicks in Nico's hand, hot and hard and leaking precome. He comes with a long drawn out moan, feeling the blissful warmth of his orgasm spread through his body, remembering just at the last moment to pull up his t-shirt to keep this less messy than it could potentially be. Some of his come splashes onto Nico’s dick, aiding the slide as Nico's hand moves faster. The little gasping moans that Nico is making are just too hot and also probably a bit too loud for their surroundings, so Daniel can't resist pushing a couple of wet fingers into his mouth, letting him suck on them. With his other hand he reaches down, knocking Nico's hand away and replacing it with his own. 

Daniel watches him come then, his face tightening for a moment in concentration before his mouth falls open, body tensing as it hits him in shuddering waves. 

They stand like that for a couple of minutes, breathing heavily as they lean against each other. This was definitely not what Daniel had in mind for this evening but it's stopped him thinking about the race and fuck he feels pretty damn nice right now, if a bit sticky. He reaches for some tissue, cleaning them both up as best he can and then dragging his pants up, watching as Nico does the same. He almost does want to ask Nico to come home with him now, but at the same time he's getting a bit of a headache and he doesn't want Lewis to beat the shit out of him in Canada, so probably best not. 

“See you in a couple of weeks, mate,” Daniel says, sliding open the lock. 

“For sure,” Nico replies, giving Daniel's shoulder a squeeze. 

“And erm, thanks.” 

“Same,” Nico replies, smiling at him, swaying a little. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone and there's sweat glistening on his chest. Daniel's eyes linger on him as they walk back out into the bar and fuck, he is definitely going to start carrying a condom everywhere he goes from now on.    
  


* 

  
Daniel smiles at Nico when the interviews conclude, asking him how life’s going away from F1 and wondering idly if there’s any way the two of them would ever wind up in that kind of situation again. It seems unlikely, he reckons as he watches Nico disappear into the crowd into the waiting arms of Vivian.   
  


* * *

 

Mark interviews Nico on the grid before the race, giving him a friendly hug when the camera has moved away. Just like old times, that’s kind of how it feels. Yet weird, the two of them both being retired now. It’s crazy how much time has passed, Mark thinks looking at him now, both with rings on their fingers and Nico on the way to being a father for a second time. 

They run into each other again later that evening, clinking their beers together and sharing a smile that says  _ this was all ours once, remember _ . He’s grown out of his youthful beauty now, Nico, hair shorter and stubble across his face, but still when Mark looks at him he can see the echo of his teammate of 2006, so infuriatingly pretty and self-assured that Mark had wanted to hit him. Or, as it had turned out, fuck him. 

There’s one night that Mark goes back to occasionally, saved in his memory as ultimate wank fodder, something he hasn’t even told Ann about – and Ann knows a hell of a lot. 

He glances at Nico now, eyes flicking to his lips, wondering if he tastes the same as back then; here in Monaco, the Friday night of race weekend. Eleven fucking years ago. 

Mark isn’t drunk, not by a long shot, and they haven’t remotely talked about it since so he’s not sure what it is that prompts him to mention it now. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself though. 

“Have you still got that dress, mate?” Spoken casually, looking out at the yachts rather than at Nico. Nico turns to him, smiling in amusement and a little hint of something else. His tongue darts out over his bottom lip, a gesture that always did drive Mark wild. 

“Yes,” he says. “I’ve never worn it with anyone else though.” 

“Good to know,” Mark says, surprising even himself at the sudden rush of possession he feels, misplaced now so many years later. 

“Maybe you should come over sometime,” Nico says, lowering his voice, “see if it still has the same effect on you.” He touches Mark’s wrist gently, smiling before walking away to talk to one of the Mercedes engineers. 

Mark often wishes he’d taken pictures, but still the memories are vivid enough in his head. He thinks of it now, smiling as he feels his dick stir. 

_**2006** _

“Fuck,” Mark says as Nico steps into the apartment, his blond hair soft against his face, lips painted a deep cherry red. “I didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.” 

If Nico’s shy about this at all he doesn’t show it, turning around slowly to let Mark appreciate him fully. The slinky black silk of the dress clings to his pale skin, a strange mixture of femininity melded with the lean muscle of a Formula One driver’s hard masculine body. 

Mark was supposed to be the one in control, prompting this, requesting it and pushing Nico to see how far he’d go, what he could get him to do. Yet watching him now, powder blended lightly on his face and eyes dark with eyeliner applied so precisely it looks as if he’s done it a thousand times, Mark can’t help but feel like he’s the one out of his depth, not Nico.     


“You really want this, don’t you?” Nico says in wonder as Mark steps closer to him, cupping his cheek and rubbing his thumb over Nico’s lips, smearing the lipstick before leaning in to kiss him. 

“Yeah,” Mark says casually, “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” 

Mark pulls the dress up then, fingers sliding up Nico’s thighs and over the straps of the suspender belt he’s wearing, skin smooth beneath the lace where he’s shaved his legs carefully. This is a fantasy Mark has had ever since his young teammate first walked into the garage and it seems almost impossible to believe it’s happening. They’ve fucked a few times, but not like this, never like this. Mark wants everything all at once, so much so that he can’t decide what he wants to do to Nico first. He wants to feel the points of Nico’s stilettos digging into his back as he fucks into him, Nico’s stockinged legs wrapped around his waist. Wants him on his knees with his mouth full, dress stained and filthy. Wants him writhing on his fingers, begging to come because he’s been so so good.  

His hands explore further, stroking over Nico’s erection and making him shudder with the friction of the lacy underwear rubbing against his sensitive skin. Mark wishes he could take him out of here, take him to dinner like this and have Nico blow him in the toilets of some fancy restaurant, but that can never happen. They have tonight though, and Mark fully intends to make the most of it. He reaches around and pulls down the zipper of Nico’s dress, the metal cold against Nico’s spine. Mark hums appreciatively as the material falls to the floor, pushing Nico back onto the bed and standing over him for a moment before kneeling at the edge of the bed and mouthing at his dick, the black lace wet with pre-come, material stretched tight over him. 

Nico curses with the sensation, hooking his legs over Mark’s shoulders and moaning loudly with every touch. It’s tempting just to carry on, to make him come like this, spread out like the perfect girl. There’s no other driver who could pull this off, Mark thinks, but it seems natural almost for Nico, it suits him. And really Mark knows he should probably feel bad about all this, seducing the young rookie, yet it feels as though he’s the one in trouble here, caught up in whatever this is. He could stop it tomorrow he tells himself, although really it isn’t quite true. 

“Mark, please,” Nico pleads, and fuck Mark needs to be inside him so badly.

“On all fours,” Mark says, more shakily than he’d like, pulling back and watching as Nico turns over. Mark leans over him, pulling the knickers to one side and spreading him open, pressing his thumb against his arsehole, smiling as Nico pushes back against him. 

“Patience,” Mark whispers. Nico squirms, bracing himself with one hand while the other reaches down to stroke his dick. Mark considers knocking his hand away and ordering him not to touch himself, but the noises he’s making are too exquisite and Mark just wants to taste him. 

Nico falls forward onto his forearms at the first touch of Mark’s tongue, burying his face against the pillow. It must be torture, Mark thinks with a smile, not enough and too much all at the same time. He circles Nico’s hole with the tip of his tongue a few times, the lightest of touches. 

“Fuck,” Nico moans, his hole fluttering as Mark spreads him wider, licking over him a few more times before dipping his tongue inside. He’s hot and wet and so utterly perfect, moaning into the makeup-smeared pillow. For all that Mark likes taking the piss out of him in public for his looks, he is completely beguiled by Nico, thoughts creeping in about what else the German would let him do; whether he’d agree to be tied up, what kind of toys he likes. 

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” Mark says conversationally before spearing his tongue into him again, Nico whimpering at both the words and the sensation, hand moving faster on his dick. 

“Fuck…Mark, I can’t…fingers,” he pleads, but he starts to come before Mark can even get his fingers inside him, clenching against Mark’s tongue, his arse crack slick with saliva, thighs shaking and the lacy knickers thoroughly ruined. 

***

Mark smiles at the memory of that and what happened after, watching Nico in the distance where he stands talking to Toto on the Mercedes yacht. He tries to picture the champion in the same outfit now but it doesn’t quite work somehow, too much has changed.    

* * *

 

The buzz that spreads through the Monaco paddock as the World Champion makes his way to the grid to interview the top three doesn’t quite stretch to the Mercedes garage. The mood is sombre, in a similar way to the previous day, even as Lewis’ sixth place finish was perhaps better even than anticipated after the disaster of qualifying. 

Toto feels the sinking dismay at all of it even as he feels the irresistible pull towards his former driver, the anticipation of being close to Nico as heady as it always was. 

It is difficult in the circus of it all to find a moment alone, everyone wants a piece of the World Champion almost as much as a word from the race winner. It’s unbearable, Toto thinks as he watches Nico across the deck of the Mercedes hospitality yacht that evening, sun a crimson fire in the sky as it sets behind him. The nostalgia is unbearable. 

“Congratulations on the baby,” Toto says, when they finally find themselves together, a rare moment when Nico isn’t surrounded by friends or family. A prince holding court in the greatest arena of them all; he exudes confidence here, wears it like a second skin. Toto always preferred him a little more vulnerable. 

“Thanks, same to you,” Nico replies, sipping at his champagne, running his finger around the rim of the glass. “How does changing diapers compare with managing the team then?” he laughs. 

“Easier, definitely easier,” Toto replies, smiling for a moment before his expression turns serious. “Except this year, well, driver relations not so much of a headache.” He looks into Nico’s eyes, holding his gaze. 

“Is that what I was – a headache?” Nico asks, licking his lips and smiling wryly. There’s the barest hint of a need for praise in his voice. 

“You were a lot of things,” Toto says. “God, you were—” He stops abruptly as Vivian returns to Nico’s side, slipping her arm through his, her other hand cradling her belly. 

*

Toto is washing his hands when Nico walks into the toilets half an hour later, the two of them the only occupants. Nico looks at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment, long enough for Toto to know that Nico followed him purposely. 

“What were you going to say back there?” Nico asks casually, standing in front of the end urinal, not moving. Waiting. 

Toto takes a deep breath before exhaling and moving to stand behind him. He’s ditched the suit jacket he was wearing, a thin white v-neck t-shirt stretched tight over lightly tanned skin. Retirement has softened his features, happiness smoothing out all the frown lines from his face. 

This is stupid, Toto knows as he presses himself close to Nico, sliding his hands up his sides beneath the t-shirt as he bends to kiss his neck. But no one tastes like Nico. No one feels like him either. No one comes apart like him, Toto thinks as he pulls Nico’s erection free from his trousers. 

Nico braces himself, hands out against the wall and his head dipped forward as Toto teases his thumb over his slit. He bites at his lips and trembles in Toto’s arms as the older man jerks him off, grip firm and a little rough. “Bitte,” he mouths as Toto’s teeth graze his skin - and really it feels just for a second like nothing at all has changed. 

It is quick, frantic with the urgency of how dangerous this is. It always gets to Nico, that. He gasps loudly as he comes all over the wall, Toto’s hand still working him even when it feels too much. 

“Lick it off,” Toto orders, watching as Nico’s come drips down the wall into the gleaming marble of the urinal. Nico just turns to him, smirking as he tucks himself back in. 

“You’re not my boss anymore, remember,” Nico says, touching Toto’s cheek and leaning in to kiss him chastely on the corner of his mouth before walking away. 

He pauses at the door, whispering Toto’s name, and when the older man turns to look at him Nico smiles with an affection that he’d forgotten he had. Toto smiles back, watching him leave. 

“You’re the best thing I ever lost,” Toto says softly, finishing his sentence. He frees his cock then, hand braced on the wall in the same spot that Nico's fingers touched moments before. The smell of Nico's spunk is thick in the air and still Toto can taste the faint salt of the sweat from his skin. When he comes he comes hard, semen coating the wall and mingling with Nico's. Toto stares at it, breathing heavily for a moment before tidying himself. Grabbing some tissue from the solitary cubicle he dampens it, wiping all evidence of their encounter away. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to flow a bit better, but I have been staring at it for way too long and needed it out of my drafts. Hopefully it's passable enough!


End file.
